Roxanne
by Aki Hotaru 16
Summary: There is no such thing as happily ever after. Especially when you're blindfolded and tied to a chair with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company. Oh wait, I'm not alone. I've got a Batman look-alike and a kid in a wetsuit. Yep, I'm doomed.
1. Prologue

Greetings fellow Kick-Ass lovers!

This story has been in development since the movie came out, so a lot of time and effort was placed into the creation of this story. So it would make me incredibly happy if I were to get reviews/constructive criticism. Roxanne will be following the movie for the most part, but I'm taking quite a few liberties and altering the plot for my character's benefit. It's crazy that I'm actually writing a Kick-Ass story considering I wanted to walk out of the theater in the first half hour. Guess Hit Girl just stole the show.

I'm giving this story an **MA Rating**, but I doubt any teenagers will really comply with the warning, especially since I'm guessing anyone under 18 snuck into the theater or dragged their parents to see it.

**Disclaimer:** Characters and situations of Kick-Ass are the property of Marvel Comics, Marv Films and Plan B Entertainment. Anything you don't recognize is mine. ~Roxanne Robinson is of my own creation, and she would be livid should someone steal her.~

This story is for the enjoyment of fans, and not for profit. Please don't sue as I have no money.

And on that note,

_Enjoy!_

* * *

**Prologue**

* * *

How did I get myself into this? Blindfolded, tied to a chair, and dressed in nothing but Kevlar and spandex. This is just fucking great.

And to think, I was a damn school teacher! I have a bachelor's degree in Science in Education. I went from substitute teaching to spending my evenings in spandex. When did I lose my mind? Was it the day I agreed to put on the mask? Was it the day I started working for Frank D'Amico? Or the day I started fucking him?

What's the point of asking? In a matter of moments all that will remain of me is a pile of flesh and bullets. Fuck, that's going to be a mess, I wonder if my body will be recognizable enough to Frank? If only I could see his face when he recognizes the ring!

Probably the best way to go is not by blaming myself, but to blame that little shit for trying to get into daddy's good graces by capturing us. And to think that little fucker I single-handedly tutored for five years pulled a gun on _my girl! _If I get out of this, someone's getting a whoop-for!

I seriously need to keep the wishful thinking at a minimum.

Shit, what's the point? When you die, aren't you supposed to reflect on your life and wish for all the things that could have been? Tomorrow would be my wedding day and here I am, trapped and prepared to die. At least I'll die by his side, _bastard_. To the world he's known as Big Daddy; but to me he's Damon Macready, better known as my brother in-law. He also happens to be the jerk that got me into this mess in the first place.

And to think it all started with an idea, a stupid, selfish idea.

But I'm getting too far ahead of myself. My name's Roxanne Robinson and I'm a superhero.


	2. The Idea

Hi everybody! Sorry it's been so long since my first posting, but I've been pretty put-off by this site. has been screwing up recently, and as of this moment, claims I have had no hits for this story prior to yesterday despite having this added to people's favorites and getting reviews.

I'd really appreciate more reviews so that I know people are reading this. I'd hate to put this story on hold just for a few comments.

* * *

**The Idea**

* * *

It all started with an idea.

"You want me to what?"

"Be a superhero." My brother-in-law deadpanned through the bulletproof glass.

I dropped my head and inhaled slowly, trying to regain some composure. This cannot be happening. Learning that Damon had become someone's bitch would have been better news than learning that he wanted to fight crime in tights. I sighed in exasperation; at least Mindy wasn't here to see that her dad had gone wacko.

I snuck a glance only to see that Damon's stoic expression hadn't changed. He was being completely and utterly serious about the proposition. Fuck me.

Trying to stir up a little emotion in him, I drew the receiver close to my mouth and reprimanded him. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" He remained unfazed.

Breathing in I tried to calm myself and reason with him. "Damon, what's wrong with you? You've changed so much. First it was the mustache, then the buffing up, now _this?_ You're not the man my sister married." I tried to cross my arms in a reprehensive way, but fumbled realizing it was impossible to do so while holding a phone. Ergh. I really hate these prison visiting rooms.

"No I'm not." Damon spoke, catching me by surprise. "I'm better than him."

My eyes widened in apprehension as I started to lose it. "Holy shit man, are you going schizo on me? Cus' if you are, I need to know now- Oh wait, if you went crazy you wouldn't know…" Poor Damon, five years in prison could do a lot to a guy.

"I'm not crazy Roxy." I caught a little exasperation in his voice.

Pointing my finger at him accusingly, I yelled. "_Ah_ _hah!_ That's what you think, but I know better!" I waggled my finger at his face, which remained blank.

"And I'm not on drugs either. You know me better. Listen." He lowered his voice to a whisper, and brought the receiver closer to his mouth. "I'm getting out of prison in a matter of months and I want to be prepared. I want to go out with a plan for us."

"Us?" I questioned bemused.

"Yes. You, me, and Mindy."

"What does Mindy have to do with being a superhero?" I raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"I'll get to that in a moment. Just listen." Nodding my head, I agreed to shut up to humor the psycho formerly known as my brother-in-law. "D'Amico needs to be taken down. He set me up and is solely responsible for the death of my wife. It's his doing that Mindy has grown up without her mother." He spoke with an edge to his voice.

Pressing my hand to the glass, I tried to assure him as best I could. "Damon, Cindy's death was her own fault. She couldn't cope." To this day I hadn't forgiven my sister for taking the easy way out. Our parents taught us better.

"It's D'Amico's fault!" Damon slammed his fist, shaking the table.

Unfortunately Damon's little outburst caught the attention of a guard on my side of the glass. Tapping my shoulder, the burly but thoughtful guard asked, "Is there a problem here Miss?"

Holding the receiver to my shoulder, I turned to the guard and fluttered my eyelashes innocently. "Of course not officer, Damon has a tendency to overreact." _Oh how that was an understatement._

Shifting his gaze to the fuming Damon, he eyed him a bit. Turning back to me, he sent me a questioning look. Deciding it was now or never, I mustered up my best Mindy impression. Tilting my head to the side, I flashed him my best blue goo-goo eyes and flipped my blonde bangs to the side. His intense look quickly melted. Patting my shoulder, he spoke. "Let me know if you need me." Smiling back, I replied. "I will." What a sucker.

Turning back to Damon, I noticed he looked even more furious than before. What's his deal anyway? Oh yeah, dead wife, hell-bent on revenge. Yep, that's my brother-in-law.

Continuing our conversation, Damon seethed. "D'Amico owes Mindy a childhood. I won't rest till she gets it back." He looked more determined than ever. "I don't want to do this alone. I want to do it together: you, me, and Mindy, as a family."

Slamming my hand on the table I screamed in a hushed voice. "Not only are you thinking of endangering yourself, but your daughter too?"

"Please calm down." He sighed into the phone. The familiar Damon was beginning to show through.

"Holy shit Damon; you've really outdone yourself this time." I murmured under my breath.

Leaning forward, Damon questioned me earnestly. "So did you sign Mindy up for the lessons I suggested?"

My brows knitted together. What did that have to do with anything? "Yeah? She's currently enlisted in karate, gymnastics, and kickboxing. The stuff's taking a toll on her. She's only five, may I remind you?"

"I want her to be _prepared_." Damon stressed.

Putting two and two together, I gasped in comprehension. "Jesus, you had me enroll her in those classes so she could fight crime?"

"Ahem." The guard from earlier raised his voice. "Any problems?" Shaking my head in dismiss, I centered my attention on the lunatic in front of me.

"I'm not expecting for her to start fighting soon, her training is just the tip of the iceberg." He spoke as if her involvement were justified. "But before we can go anywhere, I'd like you to do something for me." How could he possibly ask a favor of me now? He just explained his own daughter would be involved in a vengeance plot!

"You're not expecting me to take a bunch of self defense classes too?" The words slipped right out of my mouth. I can't believe what I'm saying! I'm actually giving in to this superhero shit!

"Yes, eventually you will." Damon spoke with a smile in his voice. "But what I have in mind for you is even greater than training."

"A mission already?" I sighed. This was absolutely crazy.

"Yeah, a mission already." Damon's voice dripped with sarcasm. "D'Amico's son is in need of a tutor."

"And how would you know this?" I was trying to convince myself Damon was taking orders from the voices in his head.

"A goon of his that landed himself in here was complaining about the search for one." I nodded my head for him to go on.

"So you're expecting me to send in my resume?" I cocked an eyebrow.

"Exactly!" Damon beamed, thrilled to know that I understood what he meant.

I sighed; Damon could be so naïve sometimes. "Damon, have you ever considered the credentials I'd need to get this gig? I'm a fucking high school substitute teacher! This guy would have his son going to a prep school! I'm so unqualified he'd reject my resume before it even got mailed!" Damon's expression remained unfazed. Trying to press him a bit more, I explained. "Plus I have a criminal record, _no thanks to you!"_

Damon smirked, "Roxanne, he's a gangster, I don't think he'll mind if you have a criminal record."

Sending him a dead serious look, I explained. "He's a parent Damon. All parents care."

"Well then make sure to enclose a picture of yourself in the resume. He won't turn you down." He replied smiling a bit.

Noticing his chipper mood, I tried to sway him. "Damon, most people don't get jobs by looking pretty-" before I could finish, he cut me off. "Roxy, you're an exception. Any guy would be crazy not to hire you." Blushing a bit by his flattery, I knew I was stumped by a mad man. Damon always knew how to manipulate me. Damon continued. "We'll need these." He held up his left hand to the window. Scribbled in blue ink across his palm was a deadly list of weaponry that would make Osama Bin Laden jealous.

"And how do you suppose we pay for all of this?" I questioned. Leaning forward, I scanned the list, recognizing the majority of the armaments. My eyes nearly bulged as they scanned the word BAZOOKA. Sighing, I tried to knock some sense into him. "This shit's expensive, you know teachers' salaries. Plus, I'm only a sub now, I get paid dirt. How am I supposed to get a hold of these anyway?"

Damon smirked. "Don't act so innocent Roxy; you and I both know you're no stranger to the black market."

Hushing my voice, I leaned forward, trying to knock Damon off the subject. "That was a long time ago Damon." _When would he let this go?_

"Seven years to be exact." _Ergh. Not again!_

One of the few things Damon loved gloating about was his capture of me. I'd been a proud weapons collector since the age of ten. It all started when my dad accidentally dropped his switchblade in my stocking one Christmas, and I was astounded to find Chris Cringle's little 'gift' the next day. Let's just say, I haven't been normal since.

Over the years my strange love of weaponry stemmed out and became an addiction. I had to resort to underground trades for my collection, and that was how Damon and Marcus busted me for possession of a deadly weapon. My sister Cindy had to bail me out, and that was how she met Damon. It was the beginning of the end. After Cindy's death, I'd been raising Mindy with Marcus in a joint custody relationship. Marcus and I were by no means romantically involved, but we came together to raise the little lady. I would have been proud to do it on my own, but I could hardly support myself with the money I was making, so Marcus' involvement in raising Mindy was the best decision.

Noticing the fond look in his eyes, I knew Damon was recalling my arrest. I winced at the memory, it was anything but fond. I had bruises for a week and a criminal record to boot. Even I was surprised to learn that I was still eligible to teach after that little stint.

Snapping out of his daze, Damon continued. "About the money-" I cut him off with my skepticism. "Yes, how does one obtain a Bazooka on a teachers' salary?"

Ignoring my comment, Damon continued. "We'll start by taking out low-level gangsters and drug dealers. After subduing them permanently, we'll take their profits."

"You expect me to steal from the dead?" I quirked any eyebrow, this harebrained plan was getting more ridiculous by the second.

"_For me?"_ He tilted his head down and fluttered his eyelashes. _Never mind the tights, he is somebody's bitch!_

Ignoring my inner monologue, I popped the big question. "And we're supposed to go about this as superheroes?"

"Yes." He replied, as if it were completely logical.

"That's where you lose me." I sighed. _Wait, when did he have me?_

Leaning forward, Damon started to speak with a sense of excitement in his voice. "It makes perfect sense. What better way to hide our identities than dress as superheroes? We'd be setting an example to the people, not to fear the tyranny of others. Plus it has that ironic spin to it!"

"The irony isn't the point!" I yelled in hushed voice. "We'd be doing something awful! Have you ever considered the consequences of our actions? We'd be ruining a family. Think of D'Amico's son!"

"How is that a bad thing? That's kind of _the_ _point_." Damon spoke frankly.

Ignoring his comment, I continued ranting. "Plus we'd be risking our lives daily and Mindy would lose what's left of her childhood to fighting! You preach about Mindy having lost most of her childhood, yet involving her in this would be the ultimate end to it. How could you live with yourself?"

Darkness overwhelmed his gaze. "Knowing that D'Amico could never do harm again would be worth the loss." He was willing to sacrifice Mindy's youth 'for the greater good'. I sighed contemplating if _I_ could live with myself should I allow this.

Noticing my expression, Damon enlightened me. "I do plan to raise her as a loving father and teach her all that I know."

"That's what I'm afraid of." I groaned.

"I promise that her crime fighting will never interfere with her schoolwork." Damon always knew how to work me.

I quickly retorted, "Mindy is to have all of her homework done before she _goes_ _out_." I refused to associate the words 'crime fighting' with a five year old. "And there is no way in hell I'm going to set an example for others. Should this plan go down, we're doing it in the shadows. No one is to know about us." Oh crap, I'm setting the rules. Apparently this shit is going down.

Huffing, Damon gave into the terms of my conditional surrender. "Fine, but just because we won't be seen by the public doesn't mean we shouldn't dress up."

I questioned him. "Have you noticed the flaw in dressing as superheroes?" Receiving a blank look, I went on. "We don't have _superpowers_. We'll get our asses kicked."

"Not with the training I have in store for us." He smirked. _Oh shit, what have I gotten myself into?_ "Anyway, if Batman can do it, why can't we?" _Oh God, he brought up his idol._

"That's because he's _fiction_." I returned his blank look.

"He's the best lead we've got." I couldn't help but think so too. Who cares if we don't have superpowers? There's no such thing. People don't fall into nuclear reactors coming out with superhuman abilities. In fact, they usually never come out at all. But this might be my chance to make something of myself, to go beyond Roxanne Robinson the substitute teacher.

Catching myself grinning in the reflection of the glass, I desperately tried to hide it behind the receiver. But I had already been caught. "You gotta admit it's pretty cool huh?" Damon grinned.

Trying to resist my smile, I agreed. "Yeah it's pretty cool."

Damon beamed with pride, whether for my sanction or his accomplishment of swaying me I don't know. But seeing him happy was worth risking my life and Mindy's childhood.

Screw the consequences, I love the lunatic.

Finally, one of the guards called out. "Time's up! Please hang up the receivers and step away from the glass."

"One more thing…" Curiosity had finally gotten the better of me. Inclining my head closer to the glass, I whispered, "What are you going to call yourself?"

With a smirk, he replied. _"Big Daddy."_


	3. Beautiful Vengeance

**Disclaimer:** Characters and situations of Kick-Ass are the property of Marvel Comics, Marv Films, and Plan B Entertainment. Anything you don't recognize is mine. Roxanne Robinson is of my own creation.

This story is for the enjoyment of fans, and not for profit. Please don't sue as I have no money.

**Author's Note:** I'd really appreciate feedback on this story, just so I know people are enjoying it or if anyone could point out any improvements.

* * *

**Beautiful Vengeance**

* * *

Standing in the shadow of the skyscraper, my future looked ominous. There was no way in hell I'd ever pull this off.

In my anxiety, I had clutched, torn, and twisted my paperwork beyond recognition. _So much for references._

Standing in front of a window by the entrance, I eyed my reflection. I looked more like a tramp than a teacher. This would be the first and last time I would ever allow a five year old to play dress up with me.

My morning had been complete chaos. First I woke up late, and then Mindy thought I wasn't wearing enough purple, so we ended up trying on several outfits right up until twenty minutes before my interview. Somehow I had landed myself in a purple cocktail dress with black stilettos. I was anything but thrilled. Trying to look a tad bit more professional, I did some last-minute adjustments in the cab. I wrapped my shoulder length blonde hair up in a tight bun and dawned on a pair of black rimmed glasses that I'd discovered in the back seat, finding they were by no means my prescription; I left them perched at the tip of my nose.

Eyeing my reflection, I realized I looked reminiscent of Christine Taylor from that God-awful Zoolander movie. Debating whether to leave the glasses on or off, I figured I'd look more bookish with than look like a harlot without.

Trying to keep calm and prevent myself from tucking tail and running home, I started to list off all of the benefits of this job. With it wouldn't have to struggle from paycheck to paycheck. There'd be no commuting to strange schools on a daily basis. I wouldn't have to deal with a bunch of overgrown brats _(including my colleagues)_ day after day. I'd get fantastic health care, including dental! Not to mention the perks of ruining a family.

_Damn it Roxanne that is not a perk! _I reprimanded myself.

I'd been facing a lot of inner turmoil about ruining D'Amico's family. Damon hadn't made it clear what his intentions were, besides _'taking him down'_ which could mean anything from murder and terrorism to giving him a big ole' glomp. I seriously doubt the latter.

From what I learned, D'Amico didn't have much of a family, just a son. According to the New York Post, his wife had befallen an unfortunate wood chipper accident shortly after publishing a gossip column about a potential affair she was in. The more I had learned about him, the keener I was on vengeance. Not only would I be avenging for Damon's wrongful incarceration, but I would be punishing D'Amico for the murder of his wife.

I was ready.

Keeping the ultimate goal of making Damon happy in mind, I stepped to the entrance. Greeting me briefly, the doorman opened the door to my eminent doom.

Glancing around there wasn't much to see. Despite the natural elegance of the building, they hadn't done much with it. The lobby was pretty barren, just a front desk with a clerk, and two men guarding an elevator. Strutting to the front, I tried to keep calm and look like I know what I'm doing. Looking up from his game of solitaire, the clerk gave me a double take. I smirked; at least I was doing something right. Leaning against the desk, I spoke in a flirtatious, yet matter-of-fact voice. "I have an appointment with Mr. D'Amico." Nodding to me, the man picked up his phone, pressing a number he speed dialed the boss.

"Mr. D'Amico, your ten o'clock is here." I winced a bit, hearing that made me feel like an escort. I could faintly hear a voice over the line say "Send her up." Nodding to the guards, the clerk set down his phone. "He's ready for you Ms…" his voice trailed off as he read a paper in front of him. "Robinson." He smirked. I rolled my eyes knowing what he was thinking of. Turning away, I walked to the elevator doors, all the while listening to the clerk whistling to the tune of _Mrs. Robinson. _

Awaiting me within the elevator was yet another guard. After entering, I turned to see the clerk still whistling the god-awful tune. Just as the doors were about to close, I raised my hand and gave him the finger, promptly shutting him up. Prick.

As the elevator progressed up, I heard the man next to me chuckle at my ladylike hand gesture. Sniggering along with him, I couldn't help but think I'd fit in with these guys. My snigger quickly died as I realized that would definitely not be a good thing. Trying to preoccupy myself on the flight up, I started to read the numbers on the elevator buttons. There were twenty-three of them, yet only twenty-two numbers. Just above the lit 22nd floor button was a button labeled GOD. I knitted my brows quizzically, either somebody had a sense of humor or D'Amico was a very religious man.

Deciding this wasn't the best time to ask about it, I kept quiet and tapped my foot to the elevator music. Coming to a halt, the elevator dinged our arrival. As the doors opened, my companion gestured for me to go on. Stepping into D'Amico's threshold, the first thing I noticed was the amount of security he had. There were four men lining the walls of the entrance, all dressed in suits. Their heavy stares weighed on me. It certainly felt like Big Brother was watching you.

Mustering up some courage, I matched their gaze, making sure each one of them met my eyes. Stepping forward, I noticed a display on a pedestal that had been covered by a silk cloth. _They were hiding something_. Deciding not to think too much of it, I tried to step around it, only to trip because of those damn stilettos.

Trying to save myself from a nasty fall, I grabbed anything I could. Managing to only catch the cloth, I fell embarrassingly to the ground. Looking up from my position, I noticed none of the men had made an attempt to save me. _And they called these guys security. _One was gentleman enough to assist me with standing up. Graciously taking his hand, I slipped and slid around the place, trying to balance myself on the ridiculous heels. Righting myself up in one swift motion, I was greeted with a nasty sight. Underneath the cloth was a showcase displaying a decapitated head. For whom the head belonged to was a mystery to me, considering there was no skin or hair left. Trying to decipher it quickly, I took in the features. Whoever it was had feminine cheekbones and… I gasped remembering Mrs. D'Amico's demise.

Holy shit, I was looking at Frank's wife!

Noticing my gaze, the man holding me apologized for the sight. "Sorry you had to see that mam." Letting me go, he took the cloth from my hand and quickly covered the display. "Mr. D'Amico's office is the first door on your left." I felt my stomach plunge and my heart soar. This was it. Hopefully my head wouldn't be the next one on display.

Taking a deep breath in, I marched to the office doors. In one swift motion I grabbed the door handle and turned it, only to have my palm slip right off the cool surface. Inspecting my hands, I realized I had been sweating immensely. Looking around, I found nothing to dry my hands off with, so I resorted to wiping them off on my dress. _This is absolutely disgusting,_ I thought_. _After, I quickly inspected my dress for any signs of stains left from it, but found none. Taking another deep breath in, I grasped the handle once more, and turned it. Hearing the distinct click of approval from the door, I exhaled in relief. Pushing the door open, I had only one thing on my mind:_ I was in the lion's den. _

There, seated at his desk before the skyline was Frank D'Amico.

He seemed perfectly calm and collected as ever. With his arms folded in front of him, he exuded authority, resembling the Godfather a bit. A chill went down my back, I had a vague feeling that if he caught me doing wrong, he'd knock me off.

D'Amico smirked at me, eyes looking me over; probably surprised to see me dressed in such a fashion for an interview. Nodding in approval, he gestured to the seat before him.

Stepping forward, I glanced around the room. D'Amico's desk was situated in front of the beautiful Manhattan skyline, why he'd face away from it was beyond me. The walls were lined with bookshelves and decorative paintings. The décor looked comfortable yet posh. There were tones of orange in practically everything. There were a couple of comfortable couches situated in front of each other in one area, some stylish rugs placed about, lamps, a coffee table, and… inclining my neck to the side, I noticed two giant pop art posters of pistols framing the doorway. Snapping my neck back quickly, I could feel the onslaught of whiplash. Taking my seat, I felt ill at ease. There were two guns literally aimed at my head.

We eyed each other in silence, sizing one another up. D'Amico's face was void of expression, all except for the faint glimmer of intrigue in his eyes. Taking in his appearance, I noticed his strong features. With hazel eyes and a surprisingly subtle beaky nose, there was no denying his handsomeness. Even with the lack of hair, he looked dashing. His suaveness was only accentuated by his clothing. He was wearing a pressed orange dress shirt along with a tailored suit. Having little experience with high end clothing, I could tell he was wearing Armani. Paring his expression with his history of violence, I knew one thing. D'Amico meant business.

"You didn't knock." He stated blatantly, slightly amused by my expression. _Fuck_. Amidst my rush to get this over with, I had forgotten to be polite and do the most obvious thing. He brushed off my rudeness causally. "It's no problem, I was expecting you anyway." He smiled, revealing a slight snaggletooth at the front of his teeth.

I sighed in relief, but didn't feel comforted. I knew he wouldn't always excuse bad behavior. My days were numbered already.

Anyone could tell D'Amico wasn't the kind of guy who put up with excuses. Just by hearing his distinct Brooklyn accent, I knew this guy was not born into money. He had to struggle to get here, and wouldn't put up with any shit. Despite his sharpness and tough guy attitude, this man didn't appear to be a villain. Sure he was bald and had a crooked tooth, and a pension for orange. But this guy didn't look like the kind of person who would try to ruin a family.

Folding his hands in a very Godfatheresque way, he went straight to business. "As you know, my son was recently suspended from school." His voice grew a bit harsh speaking of his predicament. "Rather than allowing him to get behind on his work, I've decided to hire a tutor to keep him up to speed." Opening a manila folder at his side, he scanned it in review. "I have here a list of every qualified teacher we've contacted to resolve this conflict. Do you know what I found?"

"Hmm?" I crossed my legs, trying to deter his attention.

Glancing at my legs, he went on as though nothing had happened. "Your name is not on the list. Therefore, we never contacted you." His irritation began to show as his hands balled into fists. "Now tell me, how the hell did you know we needed your services?"

Trying to remain calm, I recited in a collected voice. "I overheard some of my colleagues speaking of your son's predicament. One of whom was contacted to teach him, but declined." I surprised myself with my confidence.

"Why would she decline?" He inquired, brows furrowed.

I answered frankly. "She knows of your reputation."

"My reputation?" He interrogated. Nodding my head in agreement, I saw the wheels in his head turn. Putting two and two together, D'Amico continued. "So you took it upon yourself to send in your application despite this _reputation?_" He cocked an eyebrow.

"What can I say? I like living on the edge." I leaned forward in my seat, smirking flirtatiously.

"You understand you would not be participating in any of my _business_ activities?" D'Amico questioned sternly.

"Perfectly, nor would your son." He nodded in agreement.

Looking down, he scanned my resume. "I see you have degrees in education, but you've never worked as a full-time teacher. Why's that?"

"Cut the bull, I know you've done a thorough background search on me." What the fuck is wrong with me? I'd been acting so out of character all morning, it was starting to scare me. I was being interviewed for a job by the biggest baddie in New York City! I have no right to be frank!

D'Amico paused, slightly amused by my audacity, but went on. "It says here you have a criminal record involving…" his eyes traveled across the page "-possession of a deadly weapon?" He questioned astounded. I'm sure he was trying to imagine me jumping someone in an alley. He gestured for me to go on.

I smiled bashfully. "I collect weapons as a hobby. I was caught at the wrong place at the wrong time holding the wrong thing." _By the wrong someone._

"I see." He nodded in understanding. "Besides collecting, do you have any weapons experience?" _This was definitely not in the job description._

"Not per say, but I do know how to handle them if need be. I didn't find it appropriate to list on my application, but I'm also trained in the martial arts." _Don't get cocky Roxanne._

"Are you?" He seemed genuinely interested. Grinning, he questioned. "What areas are you training in?"

"I'm involved in karate and am currently a green belt. I'm also involved in kickboxing." _Let's not forget gymnastics._ _Oh how my exboyfriend benefitted from that. _

"No shit?" He grinned. The conversation was turning casual. Leaning back, he went on. "I'm involved in the same things. I got a dojo right through that door." He gestured to the right connecting door to his office. "Wanna see?"

I had to bite back a laugh. It was pretty funny to see such a headstrong mobster get giddy.

"I'd very much like to see your room." I surprised myself with the implication of my words.

Maybe if I got this job, I'd get a chance to train in there, possibly with him. Furrowing my brows quizzically, I was surprised to find myself attracted to D'Amico. I mean come on, he's bald! Maybe it was the charm, or the power, or the orange, but something about him allured me to him. Glancing at him, I caught his eyes tracing my curves. I'm sure his thoughts were similar to mine.

If only Damon could see me now. He'd probably want to give me a smack-down just for thinking of this going beyond a 'mission.'

Grinning lasciviously, D'Amico rose from his desk. Remembering what I came for, I leaned across the desk and placed my hand on his, stopping him. Amused by his behavior, I posed the million dollar question. "But first, about the job?"

"Oh yes, yes the job." Catching himself off-track, he straightened his tie and took his seat. "How often can you be here?"

"Every day of the week, including Saturdays." I smiled. Things were finally going my way.

"You're hired." Offering me a hand, I shook it beaming with pride.

This was the beginning of a beautiful vengeance.


End file.
